Charcuterie of Written Words, Volume 32
July this year…
This month, I read two random books of my shelf. I’d never heard of either novel (or the authors of) until I purchased them (separately, many moons ago). I never heard anything about either one (or author) in the time since I purchased them. You’ve probably never heard of them either, but now you have. The first was Grange House by Sarah Blake, and the second was To Say Nothing of the Dog by Connie Willis. Thoughts to follow next week.
Now I am reading Daniel Deronda by George Eliot for EAGENOTS1. I didn’t have the foresight to prepare for EAGENOTS last year, so I am not at all regretfully rereading Daniel Deronda instead of sinking my teeth into Felix Holt, the Radical. Something to look forward to next year…
Also this month, I read the first half of the Granta Generations edition from 2024, which I picked up at Trident Booksellers in Boston. I thought James Scudamore’s account of meeting Stephen James Joyce—grandson of the James Joyce—was well done and entertaining. Perhaps at the man’s expense, though he does sound like a bit of a nightmare. I don’t know though. I would probably feel possessive too if my grandfather were James Joyce. Although I don’t really care about James Joyce (yet), so it would have to be someone else…like Virginia Woolf. If Woolf were my grandma, I’d definitely burn her letters unless she explicitly told me not to. Except Woolf isn’t a great example because letters are really quite beautiful and not all about how much farts turn her on…
Well, anyway I must have gotten bored in the middle of the magazine, but I might read the rest next month! There’s a piece by Gary Indiana at the end that I want to read and a few other enticing titles.
Additionally:
This Vulture piece by Griffin Dunne on his father, journalist Dominick Dunne’s love for obituaries, and his mission to get dad a front page slot in the New York Times upon his passing. Charming, funny, moving.
The Rose Horowitch we live in a post-literate society thing in The Atlantic. Chilling, maybe dramatic, but probably not.
An old opinion piece in the Times called “The Tyranny of Convenience,” by Tim Wu. This was linked somewhere and I can’t remember where now, but it succinctly diagnoses one of the main things I think is WRONG with the WORLD at the moment. Do inconvenient things.
Molly Young’s profile of Johnny Knoxville, not because I’m a Jackass girl (truth be told I’ve never watched any of the original show or any of the movies or any of the spinoff content)—I’ll just read pretty much anything Molly Young writes. Predictably enigmatic, lowkey sad, but in a good way.
AND with delight in my heart I read, Emily Wilson’s takedown of Christopher Nolan’s The Odyssey in the LRB. I haven’t seen the movie yet, and I have no hate in my heart for Nolan or his movies (unlike Wilson, clearly, LOL), but I thoroughly enjoyed her hit piece and thought a lot (though not all) of it made pretty good sense. I was then amused but not terribly surprised to learn that everyone was criticizing her for criticizing him. As if the current most prominent translator of Homer has nooo idea what she’s talking about and is just being a petty bitch I guess (which she is, but let her cook). I then stumbled upon Clara’s amusing “we can let emily wilson be a little mean, as a treat,” and nodded along the whole way. As she says:
Folks are fretting and wringing their hands at a scholar’s apparent haughtiness. Is it possible that in her review, Emily Wilson hurt Christopher Nolan’s feelings? Shouldn’t she have been gentler? I feel insane. Who cares!
Finally, I want to let you guys know that I recently took the Q train uptown for dinner. The Q is a line I don’t normally take, and I was floored, upon finding myself in a train car from my childhood, by how immensely superior the old subway car design (and lighting!!! so important) is when compared to the sterile, fluorescent, hospital-blue, personality-less bench-seating ass aluminum tubes we’re forced to travel around in these days. Would it KILL this CITY to put someone with a modicum of taste in charge of these types of aesthetic decisions???? This is the kind of seemingly innocuous but insidious change that marches us closer to total aesthetic meaninglessness. Just one it’s better cause it’s clean and modern step at a time, baby.
Until next month, catch me looking disgusted by my surroundings on the E train with all its extra space and shine and shimmer.
Eve’s Annual George Eliot Novel of the Summer, duh.
I have just seen the Odyssey, and I totally understand why Wilson hated it (did we expect her to like it?). What a delight. My bookclub group chat was lit up by our various takes. Very fun indeed.
This reader at least has read Connie Willis — really good fun imo. I liked Doomsday Book better than To Say Nothing of the Dog though but look forward to next week’s report on the latter. I try to take a peek at Hugo and Nebula award winners from time to time as they are often genre gems that get left out of other lists.